


i found something in the woods somewhere

by lvllns



Series: feathers and stone [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Other, and domestic nonsense, bunch of sweet kiss prompts, pspspspsps you want some softe mason?, so i can keep track of them better lmao, yeah this is just me compiling tumblr prompts here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvllns/pseuds/lvllns
Summary: He presses his mouth to the nape of their neck, a ghost of a kiss. A shiver races down their spine. He kisses the place where their neck meets their shoulder more firmly. “I’m bored,” he murmurs against their skin. “You’re not busy, right?”(a place for me to collect various sparrow and mason prompts.)
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), NB Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: feathers and stone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756300
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. a kiss to the underside of the jaw

**Author's Note:**

> i was getting sick of these just floating around on my tumblr so now they're here! where i can keep better track of them! this will get updated as i write more but these are all stand alone prompts.

It’s the final patrol for the night, one last one before the snow begins to fall, and Sparrow finds themself tucked against Mason’s side.

His arm is slung over their shoulders, fingers tapping on their arm, as they walk. Sparrow, for their part, has their left hand slipped into the back pocket of Mason’s jeans. Easy loops through the main square, a lazy pace that suits the two of them. Mason’s curiosity has returned and he’s been full of questions. Little ones, simple ones. Nothing heavy enough to drag the peace away. It’s silent between them now though, neither wanting to break the calm that has settled.

Sparrow flexes their right hand, fingers curling into their palm, before they shake it vigorously.

Mason’s eyes snap to the movement. “What’s wrong?”

“Cold,” they say, looking up at him with a crooked grin. “I didn’t think it was going to be so cold so I didn’t bring my gloves.”

“That why you’ve been grabbing my ass for the last hour?”

“Yeah, that is the _only_ reason.”

He snorts and presses a kiss to the top of their head. “You’re such a shit liar.”

They smile so wide their nose crinkles. Before they can reply, Mason stops them. Turns so they’re facing each other and gathers their hands in his. He rubs his palms over their hands. Brings them up to his lips and blows warm air over their fingers. Sparrow can feel their face heat up, cheeks as hot as their hands now. Mason kisses their knuckles before he pulls them closer. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, he refuses to put any space between them, but Sparrow gets their arms around him, hands tucked up between his shoulder blades where the thick leather of his jacket can keep them from growing cold.

“Better?” His voice is soft against the side of their face.

They hum. “Much, though I miss touching your ass.”

He laughs, loud and unapologetic. As close as they are, he bundles them even closer, his own hands slipping into the back pockets of their jeans. Sparrow looks up. Mason looks down, one brow quirked with a smirk on his face.

It takes so little to lift their head, change the angle, and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Soft and fleeting. “Thank you,” they murmur against his skin.

Mason shrugs. “Can’t have your fingers falling off.” He dips down to kiss their neck. “Can we call this shit? It’s too fucking cold, I don’t think anything is gonna happen tonight.”

Sparrow chuckles and pulls themself away from the heat of him. The warmth clings to their clothes, seeping down into their bones. “Yeah, come on. My apartment is closer.”

“And empty,” he says with a wink as he takes their hand.

They’re helpless, really, to do anything but follow where he leads, and so they go.


	2. a kiss on where the back of the neck turns to shoulder

Sparrow is bent over the table in the warehouse library, tongue poking out from between their teeth as they concentrate on the book in front of them.

They’re concentrating so hard on whatever they’re reading it in fact, that they don’t hear Mason slip inside. He leans against the wall and settles in to watch for a little bit.

Their hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few strands falling free as they twist to look around at whatever the fuck is spread out all over their table. As they lift a hand, he can see the ink stains scattered over their fingers. Smudges of black a stark contrast to their pale, freckled skin. He looks around the room and finds books open on the floor, an uncapped pen, and bunches of highlighters scattered amongst sticky notes. Clearly, they are in the middle of researching something for the next case.

He doesn’t try to be quiet as he walks over to cap the pen, setting everything together in a neater pile to be dealt with later. Sparrow’s head tilts at the click but they don’t look at him. He almost thinks they still haven’t realized he’s here until they speak.

“Thank you.”

“The fuck are you doing, songbird?”

They look up then, hazel eyes bright as they smile. “Reading.” Sparrow chirps at him.

Mason looks around the room before settling his gaze squarely on them. Their heart speeds up, just a little. He grins, and says, “I would have guessed research.”

“Nope.” They shake their head. “Nat has some translations that I’ve never read, and they’re old, Mason. Like, super old.” They tap the book in front of them. “This one is in French, and my French is passable but not great.” Sparrow waves a pen at the books on the floor. “Found a dictionary though.”

“You’re translating a book from French because…why?”

“Because I want to read it.”

“What the fuck?” He mutters under his breath and Sparrow laughs. The sound washes over him and he hardly resists sinking into it. Not now though, not when he has half of a plan forming in his head.

They turn back to the book on the table and that just won’t do. Mason is bored, and he wants their attention. Without a sound, he moves behind them. Leans over and places his hands on the table so he cages their body with his own. Sparrow’s breath hitches, muscles going tense as they pause their writing.

“Mason?” They whisper. Oh, he will never be over the sound of his name in their mouth. The way it rolls over their tongue, the soft lilt curling around the letters.

He presses his mouth to the nape of their neck, a ghost of a kiss. A shiver races down their spine. He kisses the place where their neck meets their shoulder more firmly. “I’m bored,” he murmurs against their skin. “You’re not busy, right?”

An out. A way to tell him that they’d rather not at the moment. But Sparrow just leans back into the press of his mouth, head tilting to bare more of their throat to his lips. He groans. Wraps an arm around their waist and slides his hands underneath their shirt. Skin on skin. Fingers curling so his blunt nails scrape along their stomach.

“My afternoon is completely free.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.”


	3. a kiss on the inside of the wrist

“Is it supposed to itch this fucking bad?” Mason growls, eyebrows pulled together as he glares at his left wrist.

Sparrow leans their head on his shoulder. “I imagine it’s worse for you, given the healing.” They squeeze his forearm. “Give it a few minutes, I’m—”

“Oh, it stopped.”

They laugh. “Lucky bastard.”

Their own wrist is still wrapped up, plastic over a bandage to keep the tattoo clean. They watch as Mason keeps staring at the covering on his wrist. A million different emotions flicker over his face. Sparrow picks out disbelief and amazement before a gentle sort of reverence settles. He blinks. Looks up at them with the most dazed expression they’ve ever seen.

His throat bobs as he swallows. They reach out and gently curl their fingers around his wrist.

“Want me to do it?” Their voice is soft, eyes darting between his hand and his face.

Mason nods, jerky and unsteady. Sparrow is incredibly thankful they decided to head straight back to their apartment. This is too raw, too quick to hit the core of them, to be done at the warehouse where someone might find them.

They inhale shakily. Fingers trembling as they pluck at the plastic. The muscles in his forearm twitch and flex as his hand curls into a fist. The wrap is dropped to the floor. Careless. The cotton bandage is peeled back.

They both make little punched out sounds. Little gasps, little whines. Things trapped at the back of their mouths, the top of their throats. Sounds that are half-words, wanting to be set free but soaked so heavy with emotion they can’t break loose.

Sparrow smooths their thumb over the sun on his wrist. Black ink stands out neatly against his dark skin and freckles. When they look up at him, his eyes are wide and his chest is shaking as he takes breaths that are no longer necessary.

“It stayed,” they whisper.

It’s enough to break Mason from the trance he’s in. With a shake of his head, he jerks his gaze from the permanent mark on his body to their face. “I…asked Nat before.” The corner of his mouth tugs up in a small smile for a moment. “I wasn’t gonna sit through that shit if it wasn’t gonna fucking last.”

Laughter bubbles up in Sparrow’s chest and they snort. Their touch presses more firmly against his wrist. Over the sun they drew. Over the mark they’ve left on him. It’s almost too much. They rub at their eyes with their free hand.

His hand cards through their hair. “You okay?”

“I’ve never been more okay in my life,” they say.

Sparrow takes his fingers in their hand. His skin is warm against theirs, a low burning heat that never fails to make their heart flutter in their throat. They twist his arm. Lift his wrist up until they can kiss the inside of it, right over the tattoo. Mason keens. A wild, broken sound that snaps his teeth as he sets it free. They press a firmer kiss over his pulse, teeth scraping over unmarked skin.

Quick as a flash, Mason scoops them into his lap. Their legs on either side of his thighs, arms looped loosely around his neck. He kisses them, deep and thorough. One of his hands is so tangled in their hair they wonder, absently, if they’re going to have to cut him free. His other hand seeks out the plastic on their wrist, fingers making short work of the protective bandage even as he slicks his tongue into their mouth. Sparrow is so sidetracked they don’t even realize he’s freed their newest tattoo until his mouth is on their wrist. Not over the ink, it isn’t healed enough for that by far. But his lips drag over the surrounding skin. He kisses their palm, their fingertips. Works his way up their forearm until he’s kissing the bend of their elbow.

It takes a few minutes before he moves and takes their face in his hands. Lips to their forehead, each cheek, and then their mouth once more.

“Okay?” Sparrow murmurs against his lips.

Mason shifts underneath them. Fidgets a bit as he shrugs. “It’s…I’m…It’s a lot, bird, but I’m good.” He squeezes their hip. “Really good.” His hand falls from their hair and he runs his index finger along the outside of the heart on their wrist. Red ink. The only spot of color they have in the sea of obsidian ink that litters their body.

Something he drew, a permanent mark from him on their body.


	4. a kiss on the "v"

Mason is stretched out on their bed, eyes shut and hands tucked behind his head, when they walk in from the bathroom. A pair of worn grey sweats hang low on his hips, his shirt lost to the floor long ago. Sparrow leans against the wall and considers. Comes up with half of a plan but that’s enough to start. The corner of his mouth twitches, lifting just slightly as they shift, stepping into the room to where he rests atop their comforter.

“Did you finally get tired of looking, songbird?” His eyes remain closed as he speaks.

They scoff. “As if I could ever get tired of looking at you.” Sparrow sits on the edge of the bed next to his thigh. His eyes flutter open, sharp and calculating. “I want to do something.” They place a hand on his arm.

Mason looks over at their touch before he says, “I trust you.”

And oh, those three words split their bones open. Cracking and snapping to burrow deep within the marrow. To become part of their body and soul. It’s as much of an admission of love as anything he does, those words easier than others but no less meaningful.

“Tell me if it gets to be too much,” they whisper, fingers rubbing his arm. His eyebrows knit together, a little knot forming between them, but he nods. “Lie back, get comfortable.”

There’s a moment where they think he’s going to ask what they’re going to do. His muscles tense up. And then he relaxes. Melts into the bed with a long, slow exhale.

“Close your eyes.”

His eyes shut immediately.

They trail their fingers up and down his bicep, the muscles flexing as he shifts his hands beneath his head. Sparrow leans over and kisses his elbow. Featherlight and gentle. Goosebumps pebble around the spot. They feel him tense again so they kiss his forearm. By the time they reach his wrist, he’s relaxed again. His chest rises and falls as he takes deep, even breaths. Whether to steady himself or just for something other than their mouth to focus on, Sparrow isn’t sure.

A kiss to his temple and then they make their way back down his left arm. They skip to his shoulder. Shower his collarbone and neck with kisses. His jaw is next, teeth and tongue scraping along the sharp cut of it, before they press their lips to his cheeks. His forehead. They avoid his mouth. Head straight for his right shoulder and then work their way up that arm.

Mason shifts. Removes his right hand from under his head. Sparrow grins as they kiss his palm. “Okay?” He grunts. Curls his fingers against their cheek and brushes his thumb over their face. “Good.” A kiss to the tip of each finger. Back down his arm, to his shoulder once more.

Aimless kisses become more focused as Sparrow works across his chest. They trace his freckles, mouth following the path of their fingers. Mason’s breathing shifts. What was even becomes a little unsteady underneath their gentle caresses. They drag their hands down his sides, over his ribs. Leaning over him makes it a little difficult, but they don’t want to move so they make it work. Licking a path from the right side of his ribs to the middle of his stomach. Hair tickles their nose but they ignore it. Press a firm kiss to a cluster of freckles above his belly button. Mason groans, low, and they can feel it against their mouth.

Sparrow rests their hands on his thighs. A steadying touch for both of them. His skin is warm, muscles jumping and twitching as they nibble along the wings of his hip bones. The sweats have shifted, fallen lower, and they grin before kissing the v of his waist. Adonis belt, indeed. His entire body shakes as he breathes out, legs shifting restlessly.

Their hands smooth up and down his thighs, soothing and light. One final kiss, lower and right above the waistband of the sweats. They look up and find him staring down at them, eyes blown wide.

“Still okay?” Sparrow speaks the words against his stomach.

Mason reaches down. Curls one hand around the back of their skull and says, “You trying to start something, songbird?”

They sit up. His hand falls to their waist. “Nope.” He blinks. Frowns a little. “You didn’t answer my question either.”

“I’m…fine.” He squeezes their hip. “Nobody has…usually shit like that leads to sex.”

Now they crawl into bed. Flop down on their side to face him, reaching out to drag their index finger over his freckles once more.

“This is me kissing your cheek randomly all over again, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m not used to this shit yet.” Mason flips over. Presses his forehead to theirs as he cups their cheek. “‘S nice though. Weird, but nice.”

“I can do it again then?”

“Sweetheart, you can kiss me whenever you fucking feel like it.”


	5. a kiss as an apology

They were supposed to be at their apartment an hour ago but, as things often do, shit came up. Shit that, for some reason, could not wait until tomorrow morning. Sparrow had texted Mason to let him know, and he had said it was fine but that does nothing to stop the guilt from eating at them the entire drive over.

Sparrow barely has their old car in park before they’re out and in the building. They’re quick down the halls, steps light and hurried, and they reach their door in record time.

Before they can start to dig for their keys, it swings open.

Mason leans against the frame, one brow quirked and his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re finally—“

Rocking up on the balls of their feet, they grab his face and pull him down to kiss him. Sweet, at first, but it begins to build, and when he drags his tongue across their bottom lip, they whine. He grabs their arm and hauls them inside, kicking the door shut with a loud bang.

They reach for him, his hands. Fingers threading together as they kiss him again. Soft, gentle. Something slower and easier. Mason melts, a rumbling groan escaping him as he sways ever closer. One step, two steps, step after step until Sparrow is trapped between the wall and the hard planes of his chest.

Eventually, they part, and he rests his forehead against theirs. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” A hand slips under their shirt, warm fingers resting on their waist, thumb smoothing circles over skin that feels too tight.

“An apology,” Sparrow says, and they can feel their cheeks heat. “I need to get better about saying things can wait, because you’re more important than—“

Lips against theirs, sudden and hungry and Mason growls. Deep, rumbling from his chest. A sharp bite to their bottom lip. Sparrow gasps against his mouth and goes a little boneless as he continues to kiss them breathless. When the need for air becomes too much and they part, they blink up at him with wide eyes.

“Wh—“

He scoffs. Rolls his eyes, though it is disgustingly fond. “You don’t need to apologize for doing your job Sparrow.”

“But it could have—“

“Songbird,” he says, the nickname sharp on his tongue. Sparrow clicks their mouth shut. “Shit happens, yeah?” Mason smiles, tender and private and only for them. His thumb traces their cheekbones. “I won’t complain if you want to tell people to fuck off, but I understand. Just…don’t make a habit of it. I guess.”

The last part is whispered, vulnerable. Grey eyes dart across their face and Sparrow nods. Murmurs a promise into the scant space between them. Mason cups their face in his hands. Presses his lips to their forehead. They tilt their chin up, grinning as he sighs in faux annoyance before leaning down to kiss them properly once more.


End file.
